Page 72 of Close Knit

I’m left staring, completely awestruck.

Forget charming.

Forget kind.

Forget all the sweet little things he’s done.

Right now, Cameron Hastings is a freaking god.

The stadium erupts in cheers, but they’re only half as loud as they were for Tamu.

“Thank fuck.” Bea sighs with relief. “They do not need any more losses this year.”

My attention is caught on the lazy crowd, despite the miracle Cameron just performed in front of me. “There’s no chant for when the keeper blocks a goal?”

Bea shrugs. “Never.”

Well, that won’t do.

After Lyndhurst’s win,everyone from the box lingers awhile. Bea eventually convinces me to meet Ivan and the rest of the team, who don’t live at the apartment complex. They’re all thrilled about me helping with the auction for Femi tomorrow. By the time Cameron appears in the doorway, I feel like my friend group has doubled.

I sidle over to him. When he spots me, his head lifts, and he gives me this adorable, soft look. I’m half a second away from melting.

Seriously, with that look—full of intentions and unspoken words—how is a girl supposed to keep her cool?

“I should get going,” I say. “Thanks for inviting me. Another perfect Yes Day in the books.”

“Need a ride?”

“It’s a fifteen-minute walk.”

He frowns, his eyes searching mine. “Need a ride?” he repeats. His voice is low and intimate.

My heart does a jitterbug. “I’d love one.”

I follow him out into the private player’s parking lot. The air between us buzzes with a new kind of static, like pulling a fuzzy blanket out of the dryer without a dryer sheet, making every hair on your arm stand up.

Is this real or just postgame adrenaline? Whatever it is, when we reach his car, I awkwardly hover by the hood, not quite ready to hop in.

“So, are you going home to binge-watch the game rerun?” I ask.

“Think so,” he says. He looks utterly wiped out, with dark circles under his eyes, his shoulders slumped, and his usually bright gaze dull and distant. By his face, you’d think his team had lost.

“Not going to celebrate with the team?”

He shakes his head. “No. Gave it my all today. Didn’t want to lose and make your first football match a letdown.” His thumbs are raw and bleeding, like he’s been picking at them again. I hate the pressure he’s under.

Football has been my life since I could walk.Cameron’s words echo in my mind.

I wonder when he ever takes time to recharge.

“You could never disappoint me. Even if you lost.” He scans my face before his lips tug into a half-smirk. “But isn’t watching replays work too? You deserve a nap after that game. I broke a sweat, and all I did was cheer.”

“It’s better to watch them when the match is fresh.”

“I used to feel the same way about my knitting patterns,” I share with him. “I’d push through for hours, even with all the mistakes. But then I’d switch to an easy project, come back to the tough one, and feel refreshed.” He makes a noncommittal grunt. “So, Cameron, when do you get to have a real break?”

He looks across the parking lot before his golden eyes bore into mine. “With you, mostly.”

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